


Stress Fractures

by stephanericher



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: KNBxNBA, Other, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 18:31:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10366788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: Taiga gets traded; Tatsuya gets injured; Alex gets to deal with it.(KNBxNBA)





	

**Author's Note:**

> i kept trying to repurpose this fic for things it was not, but it's been stalled for too long so uh. here. also they haven't been together for that long at the start of this fic if it makes any difference to you.

Alex gets the call while she’s watching Tatsuya’s game on TV; it’s gone to a commercial break and she’s just about to text Taiga but he’s got her beaten.

“I’m coming home,” he says all in a rush before she can even say hello. “I’m coming home; they’ve traded me to the Clippers; I’m—”

He cuts himself off. He sounds happy but also like he’s trying to sound that way, a little bit apprehensive, which, yeah, Alex gets. He’s played six years for Chicago; they’re the only team he’s ever played for and he’d just signed an extension on the offseason (a choice that had been hard as hell for him to make, between coming back home and staying with them). And they’d turned around and traded him, to what would be his first choice out of all the other teams but still like a slap in the face to his loyalty.

“You’re coming home,” Alex repeats. “I’m glad if it’s anyone it’s them.”

“Yeah, I know,” says Taiga, and she can hear him smiling wider and brighter and she wants him there already.

“Did you tell Tatsuya yet?”

“He’s playing,” says Taiga, and that means no. “I texted him to call me when he gets a chance, and I want him to find out from me but I don’t want to, like, text him about it.”

“Yeah,” says Alex, and truthfully there’s nothing off about his logic. “When are you getting in?”

“I don’t know,” says Taiga. “They’re—on a road trip right now. I’m meeting them in Philly, so a day or so after that..”

(He’d wanted to use a first-person pronoun and then didn’t, and Alex wants to look him in the eye and tell him it’s okay because over the phone she can’t quite get the same meaning across.)

“Hey,” says Alex. “It’s going to be a little weird for a while; that’s okay.”

“I know,” says Taiga. “But I should be happy. I’m coming home.”

“Don’t force it,” says Alex. “It’ll come.”

She cradles the phone between her cheek and shoulder, opening the fridge. Living by herself makes her lazy; there’s nothing really in here other than some moldy leftover breakfast sausage and some vegetables of questionable freshness in the crisper; she’s going to have to go shopping or maybe Taiga wants to go with her—he’s probably just going to want to sleep, though.

“Okay,” Taiga says finally.

She listens to him breathing, walking around in the background, probably just pacing alone wherever he is (at home, the airport, waiting outside for a bus).

“Hey, my agent’s calling.”

“Go. I’ll see you in a few days.”

* * *

The last time they’d spent winter together in LA was when Taiga was in middle school, years before either of them had either considered their relationship being like this (Tatsuya probably had, maybe not like this but in some form or another), back when their favorite street court was still a street court and not a multilevel parking lot and long before the rent on the apartment got so high Alex wouldn’t be able to afford it without Tatsuya and Taiga pitching in the months they’re home.

It’s different sharing this space with Taiga when he’s in and out, to practice and games and back home before he’s gone for a few days in the Midwest; it’s different enough from the early summers when he’s been knocked out of contention but Tatsuya’s still in contention, the liminal period where they’re both in anticipation of all of them being together again, but it’s an easy routine to fall into, meeting each other in the park and Taiga buying them a pretzel or some churros from one of the street carts on their way to the grocery store, dragging his dad to the games when he’s in town and yelling her lungs out for the Clippers every time there’s a game.

“Everything’s good?” Tatsuya asks, the skype picture jittering as he leans over to adjust the angle of his laptop so he can see a little better.

“Everything’s good,” Alex confirms. “What about with you?”

“It’s the same,” says Tatsuya, quiet smile flickering at his lips.

He adjusts the angle of the screen a little more; it’s an ill-disguised attempt to hide the huge dark ring under his right eye like a negative of Saturn. There’s a limit to loving basketball, being grateful for the opportunity (which Tatsuya’s more than earned with his skill level) and doing what you can for the team; there’s a time where playing nearly forty minutes a night becomes a grind and Tatsuya’s body, young and strong as it is, can’t hold up forever.

Telling him that in person is hard enough; telling him from thousands of miles away is worse.

“Are you sleeping?”

“Yeah,” he says, and she can’t tell if it’s a lie or not or if she wants it to be at least partly true so she’s lying to herself that she sees it on his face.

“Tatsuya,” she says.

“I said I’m fine.” The edge is creeping into his voice earlier, a telltale sign that he’s too exhausted to keep it together.

“Tatsuya!”

Taiga leans over the back of the couch and Tatsuya smiles at him on the screen, a little bit softer.

“Hey. I miss you.”

“I miss you guys,” says Tatsuya (he only glances at his hands once when he says it, too).

Taiga rests his chin on Alex’s shoulder; Alex doesn’t realize she’s lifting up her hand until it’s mussing up Taiga’s hair. Tatsuya laughs at this, clear and real, so Alex keeps doing it. In a lot of ways, Tatsuya’s easy to please, but Alex supposes they all are in that way, that it’s analogous to the way she feels when Taiga and Tatsuya are teasing each other or giving each other stupid looks, or whatever Taiga’s feeling when he gets that stupid grin on his face when Tatsuya’s braiding her hair (and probably other times, too, but she just doesn’t notice).

They cut the conversation short so Tatsuya can get some sleep (it’s fucking late on the east coast already and probably seems even later with the days as short as they are). Alex’s laptop falls asleep on the coffee table; she’s gone from mussing Taiga’s hair to stroking it and he’s gone from half-leaning on her shoulder to slumping across as much of her as he can reach.

They need their sleep too, and complaining about how much they miss Tatsuya isn’t going to do any good. And even though it’s a warm night, she lets Taiga cocoon himself around her under the sheets (there’s nothing wrong with spoiling him right now).

* * *

They’re watching Tatsuya’s game together, staying in bed far too late on a lazy Sunday (but east coast games start too early), when they see him double over in pain and Alex’s heart feels like it’s going to wrench out of her chest. He’s just taken a shot; he’d landed on his feet fine and he’s clutching his left forearm, knees bent so he’s in a half-crouch. They’re replaying the shot and Alex can’t look away (she needs them to cut back to him, to know he’s okay and they’re playing it slower); it’s a normal shot, his arm in its usual place; he snaps his wrists and then, there, as the ball flies off his fingers he winces; his left wrist bends the wrong way and he’s already reaching for it as he comes down.

He walks off to the locker room like he’s shaking it off, but the announcers don’t have to state the obvious that he’s clearly still in pain. Knowing that it’s going to be a while before even Tatsuya knows what’s wrong doesn’t make waiting easier or better; it only makes Alex worry more. She tries to distract herself by distracting Taiga but her attempts are lousy and both of them circle back like planes waiting for the runway to clear before they land. At least they can worry together; Tatsuya doesn’t even have that much (although, being Tatsuya, he probably wouldn’t want either of them there right now, and it wouldn’t really help any of them, but still).

When Tatsuya calls them from the hospital, his voice is dull and exhausted.

“It’s a stress fracture,” he says, and Alex wants to hold him tightly and murder his coach at the same time.

She’d settle for being with him, but even that’s not an option at the moment, and it’s a sure bet Taiga feels the same way, curling his arm tighter around her waist, body all tensed up like a cat looking for a fight.

“How long?” says Taiga.

He sighs. “I don’t know. It’s touch and go. A couple of months, maybe.”

Tatsuya’s too upset to stay on the line much longer and they don’t try to keep him on. He needs rest, anyway; if there’s anything good to come of this it’s that he won’t be playing basketball forty minutes a night and staying late after every practice. He’ll manage to find some way to keep things going at a more strenuous pace than a normal person, but at least this is a forced cutback.

“I said they were using him too much,” Alex says.

“Mm,” says Taiga, resting his face between her shoulder blades.

His body’s still tense; he’s still upset, too.

“I want to be with him,” he says.

“Me, too,” says Alex, and it’s not enough to really express the sentiment.

* * *

Taiga and Alex have both forgotten that the Grammys trip is a thing that happens (or really, it’s never something they’ve consciously thought about); they only remember (or realize, really) when Taiga’s double-checking the schedule in advance and they puzzle through that road trip the first two and a half weeks of February. It’s a fuckton of miles to log, even for a Western Conference team, but at least they go through New York (and at least Taiga visibly brightens up when Alex points it out).

“You’ve got a whole weekend there, a day off after Toronto and then Friday night at the Knicks, Sunday afternoon at the Nets.”

It’s very forgiving in terms of road trips, not like the ones where a team blazes through LA and plays the Lakers and Clippers back to back without a buffer day on either end.

“It’s far away, though,” says Taiga.

“Three weeks,” says Alex. “That’s not terrible.”

Taiga sighs (he’s right, though; three weeks is an awfully long time especially when Tatsuya’s so far away and the Bulls are in Brooklyn right now).

“Hey,” says Alex, touching his hand.

“You should come, too,” says Taiga. “If you can get time off. Please.”

Alex blinks. She’d love to—all of her long-carved travel plans had blown up when Taiga had gotten traded, and given her back a lot of vacation days. She can probably spend a week or so out there, and if Taiga’s not going to be here she really has no reason to stay.

“Yeah,” says Alex. “I want to.”

Taiga squeezes her hand and smiles, looking more excited than she’s seen him since before Tatsuya’s injury.

* * *

Tatsuya does a good enough job of disguising his frustration over the phone (even though Alex knows him better than that), but in person it’s hard to miss. He wants to do more; he’s pushing his doctors to let him go farther in PT than he should (but they’re pushing back, and as annoyed and frustrated as he is chafing at the seams, Tatsuya does accept it eventually, even if the acceptance is never very graceful). He hates when Alex does something for him, even if it’s just easier that way, like tying his shoes or cooking for him (they both know he’d rather not live on deli sandwiches and takeout). Alex catches him sometimes staring at the cast on his wrist with a frown when he thinks he’ll be able to turn away while she’s still far away enough not to see him all that well-defined. She doesn’t miss it, though, and even though she never says anything directly she’s pretty sure he knows.

Tatsuya watches her while she cooks for him, fried chicken and salad, nothing fancy but nothing he can easily make on his own with his wrist like this. He leans forward in the kitchen chair while she slices the vegetables and keeps an eye on the pan, turning the chicken every so often. He’s quiet, a little bit agitated, tapping his fingers against the tablecloth and leaning forward looking at her.

There are a few moments when it seems like he’s going to say something, but then he decides not to, gaze flicking down to the table and then back to her. She’s not going to push it, not only a couple of days into this visit at least.

They fight for the remote like they always do after dinner, for the crucial choice of what to watch before Taiga’s game in Memphis—Alex knows there’s a Dragonball Z marathon on one of the cartoon channels but Tatsuya wants to watch a rerun of some primetime soap like he always does—Alex sits on top of him, but Tatsuya’s reach is long and he threatens to push her off the couch and so in the end she’s the one who concedes (she does steal a kiss from him, though; that’s her own victory in the matter even if it’s not exactly a loss from Tatsuya’s point of view).

The drama is boring but Taiga’s game is good; it’s worth the wait to watch him together as he passes for a sweet assist and goes in for the block, his palm smacking the ball down solidly. He ends the first half with two dunks on two consecutive possessions, the backboard rattling for a solid half-minute after he comes down from the last one.

Tatsuya’s agitated again, fidgeting with the buttons on his sleeping phone; Alex nudges his ankle with her foot.

“I want to play basketball,” Tatsuya says.

Alex gets that completely—she wants to play, too; watching either of them play always gets her a little bit fired up and makes her think about dragging both of them down to a street court somewhere or at least playing against someone else, bring her own analogues of the things Taiga and Tatsuya bring. And Tatsuya’s been out for long enough that it’s been wearing on him along with everything else about the injury, the desire and need to just get out and shoot some hoops; this is only making it worse. She takes Tatsuya’s injured hand in hers, curling her fingers around his.

“I know,” she says.

Tatsuya sighs. Nothing’s going to make it easier anytime soon.

* * *

Alex wakes up late on Wednesday; the jet lag’s finally caught up to her. She’s kind of aware of Tatsuya tracking back through the room, fresh from his shower; he sits down on the bed probably to button his shirt and she pulls him down on top of her and laces her fingers in his, her thumb brushing against the edge of the plaster of his cast.

“You don’t have to be anywhere today,” she says, scooting over toward the middle of the bed so he has room to lie down.

“We need groceries,” he says.

“Go later. Or we’ll get delivery,” says Alex. “I’ll pay.”

Tatsuya huffs against her chest; Alex knows she’s won. Ten seconds later she’s pushing aside the covers so he can get back under them with her. It’s colder than it has been since she’s gotten here, near-freezing air coming through the window (it is February in the northeast after all), the right kind of day to spend lying around and doing very little.

Tatsuya’s hair is still wet (he probably hadn’t been planning to go out anyway; this might just be part of some long con to blame his own laziness on her) and he smells like shampoo and fabric softener. Alex nudges Tatsuya and he rolls onto his back, away from the temptation to prop himself up on his wrist, and Alex pushes herself on top of him, slotting her legs in between his and sliding down on his chest. She squints at him; he cups her cheek with his good hand and pushes her hair behind her ear.

“What are you planning?” he says, his voice dry against the heavy air.

Alex hums, her fingers drumming against his chest, most of his open shirt pinned under his back against the sheets. She can afford to take it slow and make him wait, drag it out and make it good on a day like today, wait for the hitch in his breath (there it is) and the small sigh he makes afterward, the way his fingers slip against his cheek when she rolls her hips against his.

“Let me handle it,” she says.

And, this time, he does.

They fall asleep when they’re done, both too tired to clean up right now. Alex wakes up mildly regretting it, but it’s nothing a shower can’t fix. Tatsuya’s already changing the sheets when she gets back to the bedroom; he’s still wearing the shirt from earlier (now completely wrinkled and dirty). Alex slides her glasses onto her face, and Tatsuya comes into focus. Should he be holding the weight of all those blankets on his bad arm? Is it more on his wrist or the crook of his elbow?

“I can carry it,” Tatsuya says, the smallest tinge of annoyance coloring his voice.

Alex turns away. It’s raining outside; everything is a dull dark grey, the bare trees and the clouds and the building across the way. Alex’s phone buzzes on the table, once and again—Taiga’s calling.

“Hey,” she says (behind her, the rustling of blankets gets quieter).

“Hey,” says Taiga. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah,” says Alex. “We were up already.”

She walks back, bumping her shoulder against Tatsuya’s. He drops the blanket on the bed; it’s not like they were going to make it up anyway.

Tatsuya moves so his arm’s around her waist and his ear’s pressed to the other side of the phone and he can hear the whole conversation, occasionally adding his own input until it’s basically him and Taiga talking and Alex just flips the phone over.

“How’s the wrist?” Taiga says.

Tatsuya pauses. “Fine.”

“Like, you’re coming back soon?”

“No. Everything’s the same. It’s just going.”

“Oh,” says Taiga.

Tatsuya doesn’t say anything; his arm is tense around Alex’s waist.

“You’re getting in late tonight?” Alex says.

“Tomorrow morning,” says Taiga. “It’s a short enough flight.”

“You’re getting into Newark?”

“Kennedy,” says Taiga. “I’ll let you know when we get in.”

The don’t turn the conversation back to Tatsuya’s wrist, and gradually the tension fades from his grip—too slow for Alex’s liking, though.

* * *

Taiga doesn’t let Tatsuya out of his sight for the first hour or so he’s there, fussing over his wrist and asking if he needs anything until Tatsuya’s gritting his teeth and making excuses and Alex has to step in between them and change the subject. It’s not about them being oblivious to the issues; Taiga knows Tatsuya’s frustrated and hates being considered anything short of independent (and even though that’s not what Taiga means it’s how Tatsuya reads it despite himself) and Tatsuya knows Taiga’s trying to help and that only makes him more angry with himself for not being able to just accept it. It’s all so complicated in a way the three of them rarely are anymore, a way that’s exhausting to deal with in a way Alex hasn’t prepared herself well enough for right now.

Relationships are complicated, though; theirs is especially so, but that’s still not a comforting thought when they haven’t all been together since September (but it’s better than pretending they’re all issue-free for a few moments of pretend perfection).

Taiga manages to coax Tatsuya into bed with him for his after-practice nap, and they both do fall asleep; Alex slips out to leave them be. For all that Taiga’s better at rolling with how moody and mercurial Tatsuya can be, there’s still doubt creeping in at the edges of her mind. This isn’t even a real rough spot, not yet, but it’s the uncertainty of what exactly it is, what exactly she can or should do about this (will Tatsuya’s healing fix this on his own, and even if it will can they afford to wait?) is throwing her off; there’s no option that presents itself as an action to take but it still feels like she should be saying or doing something to fix whatever’s wrong. And she still hasn’t figured it out by the time the three of them arrive at the arena, Taiga to play and Tatsuya to talk to the media and sit on the sidelines and Alex to watch the game from whatever vantage point Taiga’s tickets afford her.

The game goes into double-OT but the Clippers pull out the win. It’s Taiga’s block with less than a minute to go that gives them possession again and nails the lead and the victory shut, and Alex isn’t sure how he can still jump that high when she’s exhausted and running on only the tension of the game when she’s not even playing. He does fall half-asleep against her in the cab, his shirt only half-tucked into his slacks and the shoe on his outstretched foot untied.

Alex wakes up alone in the morning, tired and disoriented like she’d just been given a high dose of anesthesia and for all she knows it could be next week. She can’t read the numbers on the clock but Taiga’s probably at practice (if they haven’t canceled it after last night) and Tatsuya’s maybe at PT. Maybe they’d left her breakfast or coffee or something. Alex rolls to the edge of the bed and sits up, stretching her arms up—this trip is almost over already; she’s going to have to go back home and leave Tatsuya alone and it’s not as concerning a thought as it had been, but she doesn’t want to. She stands up and pads down the hall until she hears Taiga’s voice coming from the kitchen.

His exact words are too soft to hear, only some kind of mumbling. They’re both still here, then. Alex reaches the doorway to the kitchen and pauses. They don’t seem to have heard her coming; they’re both facing the counter, possibly watching the coffee maker. Taiga’s arms are wrapped around Tatsuya’s waist; Alex can’t see well enough to be sure but she’s almost positive Tatsuya’s shoulder is tucked under his chin (she’s seen them in this position before, but not enough recently). Tatsuya sighs, almost hidden under a sudden gurgle from the coffee maker; Taiga says something else, even softer, still too soft for Alex to make out, but it’s not for her to hear really and just knowing it makes her body relax a little, in places she hadn’t even felt any tension.

Everything’s okay; they’re okay; they’re all okay. Alex’s hand curls around the doorframe. The coffee maker beeps and she steps in. Taiga and Tatsuya still haven’t noticed anything other than each other, and Alex wonders for a second if she should just get her coffee and go back to bed because they’re not going to notice anyway. She’s halfway across the kitchen when Taiga turns back to look at her.

“Oh,” he says.

“Morning,” says Alex.

Tatsuya twists in Taiga’s arms to return her greeting, the lazy smile that means he’s really happy still on his face and if there’s anything left in Alex still unsettled it fixes itself when Taiga looks back at Tatsuya with a similar expression. They’ve already got three mugs out on the counter, cream and sugar appropriately doled out; Alex pours the coffee and she’s about to pick up her mug when Taiga reaches out and catches her hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles.

They fold her into the embrace easily, as if they were saving the space.

“I don’t want to leave,” Taiga says.

Alex feels the grip of Tatsuya’s good arm tighten around her waist; she lets him pull her closer and squeezes Taiga’s hand. There’s no way to answer this, no false assurances she can make (they’ll both be back home soon, but Tatsuya will still be here, still injured; the months between now and the end of the season loom longer than they’d seemed before this).

“Coffee’s going to get cold,” Tatsuya says finally, and they all break apart.

They stay in the kitchen, leaning against the countertop listening to the hiss of the pipes and traffic outside, coffee in hands, cheap linoleum beneath their feet, close enough to touch if they need to.

**Author's Note:**

> lmao offscreen resolution (i just thought it fit here ok...but please let me know if you didn't)
> 
> also is there an 'official' knbxnba tag on ao3 yet


End file.
